


The Best Laid Plans...

by Anonymous



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-05 04:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17317880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Javert employs the use of liquid courage in preparation for a hot night. Valjean does not respond as Javert had anticipated.No real porn 'til chapter 3, if you just wanna skip to that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Javert is a lightweight: So, javert basically never indulges, so he (at least for the standards of the time) can’t hold his alcohol. Then post seine (established valvert) he actually tries, luckily in the presence of nobody but Valjean, and like. Within 2 glasses of wine he’s visibly drunk (the blush, less eloquent, etc) and also very. Disinhibited. If that’s a word. Like just clinging to Valjean flirting with him really tryna get fucked. And then it happens.  
> But I would actually prefer it delayed a bit bc it would make more sense with vj, for it to be like, vj rejects his advances bc he’s scared of taking advantage, then in the morning javert is both hungover and. Disappointed. And Vj explains his reasoning and javerts like no, I was actually fully in control of myself (capable of consent), next time don’t push me away like that if you do in fact want it. And then next time it happens.  
> Bottom!javert top!vj"

            Looking over his notes one last time, Javert allowed himself some self-satisfaction at how thorough he had been in his preparations.

            He had done his research. He had spoken to doctors and prostitutes and even that one friend of Pontmercy’s. He knew what he was doing in theory, if not in practice, and that had been good enough before.

            Javert paced the room. He made sure the curtains were drawn, the bed was done with his own worn linens rather than Valjean’s finer ones. A bed larger and softer and inside the house now that he joined Valjean more and more often. Even if, thus far, without true…eh-hem, _congress_ between them. That, Javert intended to change tonight.

The fireplace was well prepared, in case it was needed. Javert quadruple-checked at the oil was in the side table drawer. The stopper tight enough not to spill, but not so tight as to be trouble for less-than-nimble fingers.

            He put his notes away in his coat pocket. He was ready. He was.

            There was only one thing left to do.

 

            In hindsight (what little he was currently capable of) Javert might have gone a little fast. He hadn’t had much experience with wine, but surely a man of his size would have needed at least four glasses to achieve the desired effect? Perhaps he’d messed up the math. No matter.

            If he’d read the room properly (and he surely had), Valjean had similar intentions regarding the night’s later activities. The candlesticks had been placed on the table, which were only for special occasions. The fare was finer than usual, and there was, of course, the wine.

            “As I was sayin’,” Javert furrowed his brow. What had he been saying? It must not have been terribly important. He’d actually been rather focused on Valjean’s biceps. They were dining alone in the house and so he was wearing only a coarse shirt, without some thick-fabriced coat getting in the way. His sleeves were up to nearly a third of his forearm, and those hands…

            Right! That was the next step!

            Javert, grinning, took Valjean’s hand in his own, “You’re really handsome.” Huh. Javert thought he’d rehearsed a better line than that. Valjean was more than handsome! He was like…like… Dammit. What was that name? “Like…the Greek…man with the sun and the ahletis… ahleticis…ath-let-is-is—” Fuck it. “Good at sports.”

            Valjean smiled and raised an eyebrow, “Apollo?”

            Oh, that smile. Brighter than the sun itself.

“Right,” Javert nodded, then stopped because it made him dizzy, “But better. Brighter.”

            “That is high praise, oh!”

            Javert had meant to lean into Valjean’s arms, but perhaps he’d overdone it. Valjean caught him anyway, so at least there was that. Hmm. Valjean was warm. And he smelled nice. And—

            “Perhaps you should get a bit more on your stomach.”

            “I can do that,” Javert said, thinking through the fog of alcohol and arousal to be clever, “You can be on my back.” Yes, this was going just right. Javert was about to seal the deal.

            “Ah,” Valjean coughed, “No, my dear, I meant perhaps you should eat a bit more.”

            “Okay.” Javert leaned down to Valjean’s ear and whispered, “I could eat you.” And Javert absolutely would. If that was what Valjean wanted tonight. Maybe Valjean would return the favor, or (oh, please, God) finally have him afterward. Either way worked. Or just the first one. Javert was willing to be flexible in his method of devouring.

            Valjean gently pushed Javert back into his seat. “More potatoes. You should eat more potatoes. And some of that pork. You’ll be glad of it in the morning.”

            Hm. That…did not go as anticipated. Perhaps Valjean wasn’t ready for bed yet. Very well, Javert could be patient. He didn’t want to rush Valjean into anything he wasn’t ready for.

            The wine was gone. When had that happened?

            Javert looked at Valjean in confusion. Valjean simply smiled. When Javert didn’t resume eating in favor of admiring that sunshine smile, Valjean stuck his fork into the potato and held it up to Javert’s mouth.

            “Just a few more bites, alright?”

            “I—” and then Javert had a mouthful of potato.

            Okay, no, this was weird. This was most definitely not in the plan. Where had he put his notes? He patted his trouser pockets. No. He’d placed them elsewhere. But where…

            Valjean made a move for the asparagus and Javert hastily picked up his own fork. “I can do it m’self.” He chewed the bitter greens in an even bitterer mood. Surely, he could salvage this.

            After an extended, anxiety inducing silence, Javert threw subtlety out the window. “Bed?” he ventured.

            “Yes, good idea.” Valjean stood up.

            Yes!

            “You go on up. I’ll be there momentarily.”

            Javert did not run up the stairs, because he had more dignity (and less co-ordination) than that, but it was a very near thing. He set the oil on the side table, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and stripped out of his clothes. He lit a candle and lay stretched out on the bed and waited.

            And waited.

            And waited.

            He was close to shivering when Valjean finally came into the room. He laughed, and brought Javert a nightshirt. “The wine is making you feel warmer than you really are. Put this on before you catch cold.”

            He dropped it right over Javert’s eager manhood.

            Valjean undressed, and Javert held his breath, pulse beating a tattoo in his ears. He had to relax; all his sources had agreed in this. But Valjean only covered himself up again with his nightshirt. He came in by the far side of the bed, noticed the oil! ...And placed it carefully back in the drawer.

            What.

            He turned over, “Javert, if you won’t wear the nightshirt, at least get under the covers. You’ll freeze.” Javert did just that and Valjean smiled. He kissed Javert chastely on the cheek, “Get some sleep, _mon coeur_.” He blew the candle out in the habit he had picked up in Toulon so long ago, blowing air from his nostrils.

            Javert lay awake for a long time staring at the ceiling and wondering just what he had done wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

            Javert could not have said what woke him, but the first thing he became aware of was the feeling of his body’s attempts to forcefully expel his eyeballs from their sockets. He brought his hands up to his face, and the movement turned his attention to his stomach. During the night, his supper had clearly transmogrified into a fist-sized stone covered in cooking fat. It was the only explanation.

            His moaning summoned Valjean, who placed a sizable chunk of bread in his hands.

            “Don’t try to get up just yet,” Valjean said, barely above a whisper, “I know you are not going to want to, but you need to eat this. It will help.”

            It was only in the presence of the other man that Javert recalled he was naked. No matter. It was far from the first time Valjean had seen him so, nor was it in the most compromising circumstance. Javert had greater things to worry about.

            “I cannot… No, get back, I think I have the flu…” Javert had had the flu twice in his life. The only thing missing in this particular instance was the sensation of his vertebrae growing interlocking plates to grind together.

            Valjean laughed softly, “No, Javert. You have nothing direr than a hangover.”

            Javert forced his eyes open in a squint. Valjean sat beside the bed, and he had set a cup of coffee on the side table. “Hangover…?”

            “You overestimated your ability to hold your liquor.”

            The events of the previous evening rushed back to him. He also recalled the events that had, quite regrettably, _not_ occurred.

            “We didn’t do anything,” Javert said.

            “No, of course not,” Valjean pressed the coffee on Javert (who was still not eating the bread). He may have been about to say something else, but Javert spoke again.

            “Did...did you just not want to? Did I misunderstand? Was it something I did wrong?”

            Valjean just stared blankly for a moment. “No—I mean, I did want to—Or that had been my intent,” he held up a hand and his smile was awkward, “I am not explaining myself well. Forgive me, I’ve not had my own coffee yet, and I think my mind must still be a bit sleepy.”

After a beat, Valjean clarified, “You did nothing wrong. The wine just went to your head faster than I think either of us had expected.”

            Javert thought a moment through the ache and the fog. “And that made me unappealing. Was I very offensive? I don’t recall saying anything—”

            “What? No!” Valjean grimaced in sympathy when Javert groaned at the loudness of his voice. “You were far from offensive, but I did not want to take advantage of you.” His smile became easy again, and he took Javert’s large hand in his and rubbed the skin between the thumb and forefinger, “I promise that our unions will only ever be those that we can _both_ of us enjoy and remember.”

            Wait. Had that been Valjean’s concern?

            “I would have enjoyed! I would have remembered!” Javert winced as his own voice caused his head to throb.

            “Coffee. Bread. They will help.” Valjean got Javert to take a couple sips, at least. “My dear, you were quite drunk.”

            After forcing a mouthful of bread down, Javert protested. “I was not that drunk. I required at least four glasses to be relaxed enough to—” he took another bite of bread in favor of finishing that sentence, “I had spoken with medical professionals.” And other professionals, but Valjean didn’t need to know that. He’d never let Javert live it down.

            “Four?” Valjean raised his eyebrows.

            “I am quite large.” It was true. He was in excess of six feet and with enough muscle mass to subdue criminals in the prime of their lives.

            “Well, one has to have a bit of practice.” Something seemed to register belatedly in Valjean’s mind, “You spoke with medical men?”

            “Yes, and men”—and women—“of experience. In such matters.”

            “Like who?” Valjean was asking an honest question, Javert could tell.

            Do not say prostitutes. Do _not_ say prostitutes. “A friend of Pontmercy’s.”

            The other man seemed to consider this. No doubt Valjean was going down the list of the ‘Amis de l’ABC’ as they called themselves. “The student doctor? Has he gotten his degree yet?”

            “Grantaire.”

            Valjean stopped. “I do not believe I’ve ever seen that man sober.”

            “He was sober when they brought him out of detention. I am not certain he was any better for it. I can count on one hand the criminals I’ve seen so listless and apathetic upon release.” Javert had entered the station and asked what, exactly, the officers had done to the man in the three days’ time they had him.

            “We allowed him no spirit,” said a gendarme that Javert knew to be honest, if overly fond of wordplay.

            Satisfied that his officers were not secretly abusing the criminals in their custody, Javert let the matter drop from his mind.

            Valjean tried another point, “You fell over me.”

            “I took your hand and leaned against you.”

            “You compared me to Apollo.”

            “I thought that was rather poetic,” Javert said, put out, “I practiced that for the better part of a week.”

            “You. Practiced?”

            Javert started counting off on his fingers, “Four glasses of wine, holding your hand, expressing my affection,” he could feel his face heat at the bluntness, but persevered, “leaning against you to show my desire.” Aloud it all seemed so… “It was all in my notes!” he nearly sputtered. Then he cringed.

            It was clear that Valjean was making a valiant attempt not to laugh at him, “You took notes?”

            “My coat pocket,” Javert admitted, defeated.

            Valjean walked over, fished them out, and covered his mouth with one hand as he looked them over. Javert wished the hangover would just kill him. Valjean replaced the notes, came back to the bed, and kissed Javert’s hand. “Oh, _mon amour_ , I had no idea.”

            Well. Maybe it was best that the hangover wasn’t lethal.

            Javert was suddenly seized by a ghastly realization, “I am late for work.” He sprang to his feet.

            “Javert, I don’t think—”

 

            A letter was sent to the police station informing them that Inspector Javert would not be attending work that day due to violent illness.


	3. Chapter 3

            Valjean’s fingers brushed his own as the older man relieved Javert of his wine glass.

            “That is enough for tonight, I think,” Valjean kissed him softly on the edge of his cheekbone. Hair prickled along Javert’s neck when he felt Valjean’s beard and warm breath.

            “I don’ have work, in the mornin’,” Javert countered. He opened his mouth half a second and tried to adjust his uncooperative tongue, as though that might get it to finish words.

            “No, but you will have to wake up. I would not want you to be paying for tonight’s indulgences.”

            Opting to forget the wine, Javert leaned against Valjean. This time, Javert wasn’t so awkward and (mostly) managed to lay his head on Valjean’s shoulder. “Some thin’s are worth payin’ for.”

            “Agreed,” Valjean rubbed his knuckles lightly over Javert’s ribs, causing Javert to shudder. “But, there is hardly any reason to pay if you don’t need to.”

            “Those are the words of a thief.” Javert suddenly felt cold. He’d meant to be clever, but that…that might have been too far. He smiled in what he hoped was an apologetic fashion, “Not that I’ve got any right to talk. I stole your heart.” He placed one great hand over Valjean’s chest.

            Valjean picked up Javert’s hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss. “No, _mon amour_. I gave that to you freely.” He looked over the dinner table. “Most of this can wait until tomorrow, but let me clear the table. Go to bed; I’ll join you shortly. Be sure to have the oil out, hm?”

            Yes!

            Javert turned to make for the stairs when he felt a light _thwap_ against his rear. He turned, but Valjean was already folding his napkin with an air of total innocence. Javert would let it slide. This time.

            He had hardly finished washing up and lying down when Javert saw Valjean come into the room. The few moments it took Valjean to wash and disrobe were just enough for Javert to feel a treacherous apprehension beat in his heart.

            But that was okay; that was to be expected. Kissing, even embracing, had been terrifying to begin with, and those were activities they had both come to enjoy. Early bed-play had gone from anxious fumbling to shared moments of pleasure. There was no reason to think this would not end the same way.

            Valjean sat on the bed and with his pulse in his ears, Javert handed him the bottle of oil.

            Valjean took the bottle and looked Javert in the eyes. “Do you still want to do this tonight?”

            Javert couldn’t quite manage speech, but nodding was within his power.

            “And you’re alright with me penetrating you? We don’t have to do it that way if you are not comfortable.”

            Javert was absolutely okay with that. For a variety of reasons, some of which he didn’t want to bring up and spoil the mood with. He wanted Valjean’s first time to be one of control. A man who spent twenty years under another’s power should not have his first sexual experience in a position of anything _but_ total control.

            Another time, perhaps, if Javert could prove himself worthy of such trust. If Valjean felt comfortable granting it.

            “Alright,” Valjean said, covering Javert’s mouth with his own and gently pressing the younger man back onto the bed. “If you need me to slow down—or to stop—you need only say so, and we can try again another time.”

            The first movements were not ones new to either of them. Javert bit his lip when Valjean spread Javert’s legs, gently brushing his anus with calloused fingers and pressing on the skin between it and his balls. Valjean rubbed the oil in with a thorough patience that was near maddening. Then with Javert already half-hard, Valjean put in one knuckle. Two. His entire forefinger.

            Two fingers was as far as they had ever gotten. When the third finger slid in, Javert made a high whine he only just recognized as his own voice. Valjean was still. “No, no, move. Please. It’s good,” Javert groaned.

            The sound of oil being lathered on skin, an awful vacancy left by Valjean’s fingers, and something bigger being pushed against Javert’s hole. His heart began to pound. He felt his backside lifted upward, situated level with Valjean’s groin.

            “Are you ready?”

            “Yes,” it was dangerously close to a plea. He gasped when Valjean slid into him, holding Javert’s pelvis still by gripping his thighs and thrusting into him over and over. It was so good but still not enough. “More,” Javert panted. More what? He didn’t know.

            Valjean grunted and pumped faster and nearer that plum-sized knot within Javert’s core and it was too much. Javert’s hands fisted in the sheets and his back arched.

            Taking Javert’s manhood in his rough fist, drawing his thumb over the exposed glans, Valjean said, nearly out of breath, “Come for me, Javert.”

            Javert burst. Seed spouting between Valjean’s fingers and eyes rolling back. Javert nearly lost consciousness in his ecstasy. Tears pricked at his eyes. Valjean began slowing down.

            “No,” Javert said, “Please. I wanna feel you. I wanna feel you finish.”

            Valjean kissed the inside of Javert’s thigh, and sped up. Several more panting breaths and a low, guttural sound of pleasure accompanied the wet heat that Javert felt inside of him.

            Lying back, his skin burning, Javert attempted to prop himself up on his elbows when Valjean made to roll out of bed. Valjean put a hand on Javert’s chest to hold him down. “I left the washcloth by the door. I won’t be more than half a minute.”

            He turned his back—and backside—to Javert, who took advantage of the moment to flick a portion of the bedclothes at it. It wasn’t aimed quite as well as he would have liked, but it got a laugh out of Valjean all the same.

            After a quick clean up, Valjean snuffed out the light and pulled Javert against him. “Did you like that, _mon coeur_?”

            “Yes.” That felt like the understatement of the century. “Did you?”

            “Very much so. I did not hurt you at all?”

            Javert did not laugh often, but he did now. “Not a bit.”

            “Good.”

            It was quiet for a moment. Half-hoping Valjean would be asleep, half-fearing it, he said, “I love you.”

            Valjean’s arm, for a heartbeat, squeezed Javert just a little tighter. “And I you. With all my heart.”

 


End file.
